


if i breathe in the future (breathe out the past)

by oh_no_oh_dear



Series: tungle dot hell [18]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, M/M, but I mean RIGHT AT THE END, it's mostly angst tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 07:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15626286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_no_oh_dear/pseuds/oh_no_oh_dear
Summary: So, hey, you know that really bad thing that happened at the end of Infinity War Pt. 1? Specifically to Sam Wilson?Steve's not doing so good.(Mostly angst but I put a little bit of happy at the end because I AM A WUSS)





	if i breathe in the future (breathe out the past)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. But I've been trying to write Samsteve fluff for ages and I just kept being drawn to angst, so I just decided to get it out of my system. Once again, blame IW for ruining my fanfic-life.

Steve didn’t cry when it happened.    
  
There was so much screaming and sobbing and dust (and oh _god_ , he didn’t know which dust was from the earth and which was-) and underneath all that was an eerie silence, like even the birds were gone. ‘Numb’ didn’t quite sum up how he was feeling. It almost felt like his skin was buzzing, like the shock was too much and he’d gone into autopilot to avoid thinking of the look on Bucky’s face when he realized he was   
  
No. No, no, no. There was time for crying later. If he ever got the feeling back in his chest.   
  
He was pleased at how little his hand shook as he raised it to get everyone’s attention. To get a headcount. To see who was missing.   
  
He didn’t hear Rhodey at first.   
  
    “Steve. Cap. Did you hear what I said?”   
  
Steve twitched, almost as if he’d just come back awake. Rhodey’s face was streaked with ash (oh god, oh god oh god) and his eyes were strangely red. Steve could see a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.   
  
    “Sorry, Rhodes. You had an update?” His voice sounded flat. Good. Good. Leader-like. Calm. That was what they needed right then.   
  
Rhodey closed his eyes for a moment, and when he spoke again it was like his voice was being painfully dragged out of him: “I said, I followed Falcon’s. I followed _Sam’s_ signal. He’s gone. I was _right fucking there_ and I didn’t know--”   
  
Steve felt nothing. Good. Good. Leader-like. Calm.   
“Are you sure?” Was his voice shaky? No, surely not.   
  
    “ _Am I sure there was a handful of dust where his signal last pinged?”_ Rhodes said acidly. Steve nodded stolidly in reply. He made an excuse about having to check the comms, managed to take four steps before all the feeling comes slamming back into him.   
  
No one said anything when he sank to his knees and started hitting the dry earth. And hitting. And hitting. The ground was hard and unyielding under his fists, the clouds drifted on above. Unbothered.   
  
And then Steve got to his feet, not looking behind him. He started issuing commands again. He started to play the good leader again. He had to. It was what they needed. He didn’t let himself think that it was what _he_ needed.  


* * *

_  
This is *sigh* Sam the Man. Don’t leave no spam. After the beep, you know the plan. Are you happy now, St-- _ [BEEEEEEP]

  
Steve didn’t know why he called Sam’s mobile. Probably to prove something. Probably to self-flagellate. If he listened closely enough, he could hear himself laughing in the background of Sam’s voicemail greeting. He didn’t have to think hard to remember that Sam was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, his go-to when he was feeling lazy. It had been a chilly, rainy day and Steve had just had the luck of learning that Sam was ridiculously bad at playing Uno.   
  
* * * * * * *   
  
_“You’re as ruthless as my sister,” Sam muttered as he picked up 4 cards. Steve smiled sweetly before he put down a DRAW 2 card. Sam gave him a dirty look._ _  
_ _  
_ _“What was it you said to me when you ruined my life during Monopoly?” Steve asked, tapping his chin thoughtfully._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh,_ drama _.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh, yeah. You said ‘Can’t be good at everything, Rogers.’ What’s the matter, can’t take your own medicine?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Suck my dick,” Sam said lightly as he squinted at his next hand._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Hm. Not with that attitude, I won’t.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Sam snorted in amusement and reached for his drink._ _  
_ _“Damn, I’m empty. Mind getting me a refill?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“But then I’d miss you losing at Uno.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Steven, you’re a bad person. I want you to know that.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Golly,_ me _?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“If I win, will you make me another whiskey soda? You make ‘em so good, baby…”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Hmm. What do I get if I win?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“How ‘bout nothing? Oh, or how ‘bout I get to win no matter what because you love me?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’re the sorest loser I know, Samuel Wilson. If I win, I get to choose your ringtone.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Never.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“How about… I get to choose your voicemail message thing.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Steve,_ Nick Fury _calls me on that number.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Take it or leave it.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Fine, fine. But I’m gonna win this time, I got a strategy.”_ _  
_ _  
_

* * *

 

Steve pulled the cheap wooden door closed behind him, still bleary-eyed and with the taste of toothpaste lingering in his mouth. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked up and down the pothole-ridden road running past the motel. He’d been holed up here for 2 months now-- or was it 3? And each week he wandered off into nearby towns, neighbouring states. Occasionally would get on a flight to chase after the slightest whisper of a rumour. It was far easier than he had expected to blend in. His beard was unruly, his hair longer (and greasier) than it had ever been. But even if he’d been clean-shaven, high-kicking in his star-spangled suit, singing “God Bless America” and baton-twirling fireworks, no one would have given a shit. 

  
The world had seen mighty superheroes crumble to dust in front of their eyes, just as helpless as a ‘normal’ human to stop it. Many considered it a rude awakening and stopped treating supers like they were hot shit. Others were even less impressed; there was a strong underground group that was absolutely sure that the whole thing had been orchestrated by superheroes to make themselves seem more valuable.   
  
Steve pulled out his phone and quickly checked the news feeds, social media, his texts. No leads today. No leads yesterday. He quashed the stab of panic that tried to arise. He was good at that. He knew it’d all come to a head in a few more weeks. He’d break down and be unable to do anything but shake and be unable to cry and listen to Sam’s playlists and look at Bucky’s wobbly sketches until he felt numb enough to get back to work.   
  
No leads meant today was a jogging day. Steve opened his music app and hit play. The [song](https://youtu.be/8MHJ4H11OPc?t=7) picked up where he’d last left it; slow and romantic and wholly unsuitable to a running pace. He turned it up. It made him run faster, harder, like he was trying to run away from that pain in his chest.   
  
* * * * * * *   
  
_“Wanna dance?” Sam asked, idly running his finger around the rim of his champagne flute. He looked devastating in a deep purple suit with a matching tie. He’d also worn a tiny tie pin in the shape of Captain America’s shield, because he was a smartass._ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve had been mostly watching Sam instead of the newly married couple whirling around the dancefloor. He’d come as Sam’s plus one to a Wilson cousin’s wedding, so he didn’t really know anyone there. He was content enough to take selfies with a few of the younger folks, make idle chit-chat with his table mates, and people-watch._ _  
_ _  
_ _Well, Sam-watch. Sam, eyes sparkling even more than usual because of the rows and rows of fairy lights artfully arranged all around the reception hall. Sam, leaning over to nudge his sister because she’d caught the bouquet. Sam, laughing so hard he’d started to hiccup, because his sister had promptly dropped the bouquet with a look of disgust. Sam, catching Steve’s eye in the few free moments either of them had, giving him a tiny smile meant just for him. Sam, pretending not to wince when his little cousin insisted on dancing on his feet, even though she was getting pretty big._ _  
_ _  
_ _Sam, leaning over and pressing his fingertips to Steve’s shoulder to get his attention._ _  
_ _“Come in, Rogers. You promised me one dance before we left, and the DJ is winding down.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve reached up and captured Sam’s hand in his own._ _  
_ _“I don’t wanna embarrass you on the dancefloor, honey.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m a good enough dancer for both of us. C’mon, this is my favourite song!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You say that about every other song,” Steve said playfully, letting Sam lead him onto the dancefloor._ _  
_ _  
_ _Sam grinned impishly as he reached up to loop his arms around Steve’s neck._ _  
_ _“That’s because the bride is a Wilson, and Wilsons have excellent taste.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve did a poor job of leading the dance (more than a few stepped-on toes and awkward attempts at twirling Sam), but he didn’t care because when Sam mouthed the words along with the song, he was looking at Steve the whole time._ _  
_ _  
_ Baby, baby, baby

Don't leave

Never, never, never, never gonna leave you baby  


* * *

  
    “How’re you holding up?” Natasha asked. Her affect was just as measured as ever, but she was staring off into the middle distance a lot. She was probably doing about as well as any of them (i.e. not at all.)  
  
    “Bad,” Steve said simply. She almost smiled in reply, but instead she pulled a battered-looking file out of her messenger bag and slid it to the middle of the table. Steve took a long drink of terrible coffee, hardly believing the words scribbled on the cover of the dirty manila folder.  
“Is this real?” he asked, frowning. Natasha looked so fucking tired.   
  
    “It’s real. I’m going to find them and… and see if…”   
  
_If we can get them back._   
  
Steve allowed himself exactly 2 seconds of hopeful musing.   
“I’ll come with you. Let me just get my things.” Nat was shaking her head before even finished speaking. She scrubbed her hands through her hair and heaved a sigh.   
  
    “I can’t risk it, Steve.”  
  
    “I can be stealthy,” Steve said, trying for humour and missing by a wide margin. Natasha suddenly looked like she was going to cry, and Steve put down his coffee.   
“Nat--?”  
  
    “This is a remote temple of really goddamn powerful female sorcerers and they’re our last chance. No men. At all. Ever. I’m the only one I trust who can go,” she said shakily. “And before you ask, you can’t be backup either. They have lookouts and … and if they know I brought you, they’d disappear again.”  
  
    “Again?”  
  
Natasha pursed her lips. “I found them a couple times before. Thought I could get around their rules. Couldn’t.”  
  
Steve felt sick. Their last chance, and he couldn’t even offer help. He had half a mind to follow her, anyway. Make sure she was safe. She was one of the only friends he had left.   
  
    “Steve, I’m serious. Stay put,” Natasha said suddenly. Was he that easy to read?  
  
    “I don’t like this,” he finally muttered.   
  
    “It’s no spa day for me either.”  
  
    “I wish I could --”  
  
    “I know,” she said tiredly.   
  
    “Just be careful, Romanoff. Please.”  
  
    “I’ll do my best. Hey, think of it this way: if I go out, at least it was trying to do good. Might even get into heaven.” She grinned suddenly, almost as if that last statement had made everything a-okay.   
  
    “That’s dark.”  
  
    “I’m Russian,” she said with a slow blink.  
  
    “You use that excuse for an awful lot of things,” Steve huffed. When their server came to take their order, they ordered a staggering amount of beer and french fries. It was almost enough to feel normal for a couple of hours. Almost.  


* * *

  
_This is *sigh* Sam the Man. Don’t leave no spam. After the beep, you know the plan. Are you happy now, St--_ [BEEEEEEP]   
  
Steve hung up. He wanted to leave a message every time he called, but he didn’t want to fill up the voicemail. Sam’s mother and brother might need to call him. Steve closed his burning eyes and pressed the heels of his palms hard against his eyelids. He’d just come back from a vigil for the ‘taken,’ held hands with Darlene Wilson as she cried until she swayed on her feet because two of her three children had been swept away into the wind. Jada, Sam’s niece, was too young to understand where her mother had gone. She understood that her uncle, her grandma and this stranger were all upset. So she cried too. Steve didn’t.   
  
Steve turned over in his bed and buried his nose in his pillow. The moon was mostly hidden by rain clouds, but Steve was grateful for the cool air coming through the open window. If he really concentrated, Steve could smell the faintest trace of Sam; he was staying the night in his old bedroom, at the insistence of Darlene. She knew an impending breakdown when she saw it, and didn’t want Steve driving a long distance in such a state.   
  
Steve sighed, giving up on sleep for now. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and then… just sat there. Staring at Sam’s dresser. At the half-melted candles he’d held during tonight’s vigil. One for Sam. One for Bucky. One for King T’Challa. One for Wanda. He hadn’t lit one for Natasha. He wasn’t able to even think about what her 4-month radio silence could mean. He felt like he was hollowed out, like one more thing would knock him clean off his feet and he wouldn’t be able to get up again.   
  
_This is *sigh* Sam the Man. Don’t leave no spam. After the beep, you know the plan. Are you happy now, St--_ [BEEEEEEP]   
  
Steve put down the phone and then fumbled with the lighter before he finally got the wicks to catch. He pulled out the manila folder Nat had given him all those months ago. Looked at the info sheet that was too vague to figure out where in the world she could have gone. Too vague to find her. Too vague to save her.   
  
He spent a long time looking at the single piece of paper inside the folder. He spent even longer looking at the dancing flames of the candles until his eyes hurt. He realized he was grinding his teeth as his exhausted mind settled on a decision. Of sorts. He would go anywhere, do anything to find … someone. Natasha, to make sure she was okay. Thor, who had only been in touch once since the war. Even Thanos, so Steve could rip his spine from his body with his bare hands. Someone, _anyone_ .   
  
He put in his earbuds and looked at the words written in smudged marker on the nearest candle’s glass container.   
  
_Sam Wilson: son, brother, hero_ .   
  
Lover.   
  
He listened to Sam’s favourite song (one of hundreds of Sam’s ‘favourite songs), and he didn’t cry.   
  
* * * * * * *   
  
_“Are you_ sure _this is what you want for your birthday?” Sam asked for the third time in 10 minutes. He looked skeptical, and Steve couldn’t really blame him._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m sure, Sam.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You want… to go on a scented candle shopping spree. For your birthday.” Sam was speaking slowly, almost as if he wanted Steve to realize how stupid this sounded._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I wouldn’t call it a ‘spree,’ but yes. I’m sure this is what I want.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Sam gave him a long ‘why are you like this’ look, but then his beautiful gap-toothed smile appeared like the goddamn sun through rain clouds and he leaned over to give Steve a peck on the lips._ _  
_ _“I fall in love with the weirdest fuckin’ people. Let’s go get you some candles.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ _* * *  
_ _  
_ _“Do you like berries and mint?” Steve asked, wrinkling his nose. It was a little bit cloying to him, but he had a sensitive sense of smell. And sight, hearing, etc etc._ _  
_ _  
_ _Sam moved over to him and sniffed at the candle. He then made a face like a cat that had smelled something repulsive, which was a pretty clear answer._ _  
_ _  
_ _“So, you_ love _it?” Steve asked jokingly. Sam didn’t even dignify that with a response, settling for pinching Steve’s butt and making him jump._ _  
_ _  
_ _“How about somethin’ more earthy?” Sam suggested after they’d both been repelled by the entire ‘candles that smell like food’ aisle._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Like dirt?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yes, Steve. A dirt-scented candle. Smartass.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I thought I was ‘small ass.’”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You can be both, baby.”_ _  
_ _  
  
_ _* * *  
_ _  
_ _“Okay, we got… hmm hmm 6, 7, 8, 9 hm hm 12. That’ll get us the 4-for-$20 sales price for sure, but you_ really _need this many candles at once?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yep.” Steve’s heart was pounding because this was the moment. They were approaching the cashier. He’d practiced his little charade in his head a million times since he’d gotten the call last Monday._ _  
_ _“Uhh… I’m gonna get this keychain,” Steve said suddenly, grabbing the first one he saw by the cash register. Sam hummed in agreement, not looking up from placing the candles on the conveyor belt. Well, that hadn’t worked._ _  
_ _  
“Yep, a keychain for these keys.” _ _  
_ _  
_ _“That’s what keychains are usually for, sweetheart,” Sam laughed._ _  
_ _  
_ _“These keys to our apartment.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Steve, are you okay?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Our apartment next to that little beach,” Steve continued. He prayed Sam would catch on soon, because a line was forming behind them._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Our apartment isn’t next t--” Sam’s head whipped around as he put two and two together._ _  
_ _“You got the apartment?!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“_ We _got the apartment,” Steve beamed. Sam actually bounced a little on the balls of his feet in excitement, and that was all the warning Steve got before his boyfriend launched himself into Steve’s arms for a huge hug._ _  
_ _  
_ _It was Steve deciding to be overly romantic and spin Sam around that led to the whole knocking-a-dozen-candles-off-the-conveyor-belt debacle. Steve insisted that it still counted as a birthday gift.  
  
_

* * *

  
Steve didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep in Sam’s room, but he was grateful that the candles had extinguished themselves sometime during the night. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain to Darlene that he’d accidentally set Sam’s dresser on fire.   
  
Steve poked his phone screen to wake it up so he could squint at the screen. 03:52. Before he let himself think about it too much, he unlocked it and dialled.   
  
_This is *sigh* Sam the Man. Don’t leave no spam. After the beep, you know the plan. Are you happy now, St--_ [BEEEEEEP]   
  
Steve hung up.   
  
He tried to think of his itinerary for the day, which airline would get him halfway around the world fastest so that he could start his likely fruitless search. He just needed to move, to do something.   
  
_This is *sigh* Sam the Man. Don’t leave no spam. After the beep, you know the plan. Are you happy now, St--_ [BEEEEEEP]   
  
Steve nodded as though he’d gotten an answer to something important. Sam wasn’t answering. Maybe he never… no. No. Hurt too much to even think it.   
  
Steve breathed in deep to get one more faint whiff of Sam’s scent -- something woodsy with a touch of the sweet-smelling cocoa butter that Sam used after showers. Just about the only sweet smell that Steve really liked.   
  
* * *   
  
He was tying the last lace on his boots, phone pressed to his ear. Trying the number that never got answered.   
  
It rang.   
  
Steve froze in place, feeling suddenly light-headed. He hadn’t gotten anything but voicemail, this whole time. Steve refused to hope. He couldn’t afford to.   
  
_We’re sorry. We are unable to complete your call as dialled. Please hang up, and try again._   
  
Although Steve felt like he hardly dared to breathe, his hands seemed to move of their own accord. He tapped the last number called.   
  
It rang.   
  
A click, and the rustling of cloth. A voice saying something that got lost in a crackle of static, but it was enough.   
  
Steve felt something warm trickle down his cheek and touched his face. Tears. He was shaking, trying not to crack the phone with the strength in his fingers.   
_  
_ The voice was back now, almost lost in the clamour of conversations around them. But Steve heard it clear as if he was standing right next to him.   
  
_“Steve?”_ _  
_


End file.
